


Fly High!!

by ZephyrCamida



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bedtime Snuggles, Characters and pairings will be added as they are posted, Childhood, Drabble Collection, First Kiss, Flirty Boyfriends, Fluff, Hair Pulling, Hopeless romantic boyfriends, Hurt and comfort, Kisses, Kuroo has a sweet tooth, Multi, Nightmares, Polyamory, Tags in general will be added as I go, Threesomes, Top!Noya, quiet moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-02-20 15:22:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2433602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZephyrCamida/pseuds/ZephyrCamida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles for various pairings and characters to stretch my multi-shipper wings. Ratings will vary. </p><p>Each chapter/drabble will be labeled with characters/pairings, plus rating. </p><p>Newest Chapter!!: #14 - Kissing in the Rain - Daisuga - Rated: G - When Daichi finds out that Suga is a hopeless romantic one hot summer day...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Kiss - Asanoya - Rated: G

It's everything he wants, yet it's not. It's everything he imagines, yet it's not.

* * *

 

  

Asahi's hands are jittery on his waist, almost as if they've morphed into jumping beans. It makes Nishinoya laugh though, makes him a little happy on the inside that his big, dorky boyfriend has just as many butterflies in this moment as he does. He supposes that if he could move from his spot, his own limbs would be clamoring about as well, so he'll cut the guy some slack. Some.

 

Nishinoya smiles, eyes boring holes in Asahi's midsection. He is, for some reason that he actually knows but vehemently denies, too nervous to look up into the ace's face. It's incredibly awkward, the timing and place for this kind of thing. Just after practice, in the club room – they are the only two left for the evening and Nishinoya wonders if Asahi has the capability to plan such happenings. He thinks not, but again, slack, credit and all that jazz.

 

“Nishinoya,” he hears that baritone, smooth in Nishinoya's ears, leaving slight vibratos behind. Reminds him of chocolate. The libero briefly wonders if one could taste like chocolate if they sound like it, but only briefly because his boyfriend's hands are slowly slipping up his waist and it tickles. He swallows his giggles in favor of saving _some_ sort of seriousness to this escalating situation. It doesn't take long, because once those large hands are traipsing around Nishinoya's nape, he's tilting back into the touch like a kitten searching for affection – for warmth. To say he has a soft spot for those callused hands, big and firm on his skin, is putting it lightly.

 

The small brunet hums, lashes low, half covering his vision, but he can see that Asahi's both eyeing him with mirth and shaking in his shoes at the same time. Only Asahi could pull such a conflicting image off brilliantly, utterly and perfectly awkward.

 

“Asahi-san,” Nishinoya mumbles, a little pent up from the atmosphere. _Get on with it already, big guy_ – his gold eyes are saying, but the words don't leave his lips. He watches the ace nod his head a few times, almost like a bobble head about to pop off its rocker, but Nishinoya finds this whole...whatever is happening right now, humorous.

 

But, of course, somewhere between Nishinoya lifting his head to look at Asahi in the face, and Asahi moving down to _finally_ claim his prize, one forehead crashes into the others nose and the next thing Nishinoya knows, Asahi flailing over him, babbling apologies frantically.

 

The next moment of clarity, he sees the sunset over a spiky row of distant trees, oranges and purples and pinks littering the clouds with iridescent color – shaky as the view is. Nishinoya realizes he's feeling rather dizzy, actually. He also realizes that he's currently slung over Asahi's shoulder like a potato sack as the large spiker bounds to the nurse's office, still blabbering those panicked 'Oh my god. Oh my god, I'm so sorry, Nishinoya!'

 

It's almost funny, except for he can't feel half his face, and the bouncing makes his stomach cramp. But, he thinks Asahi might be touching his butt in the desperate attempt to hold him tight, so whatever. He'll take the small win in this ridiculous situation.

 

He's then sitting on an infirmary bed, Asahi crouching on a stool in front of him and dabbing a cloth over Nishinoya's face. Asahi's no longer talking, thankfully –Nishinoya can only take so many apologies before needing the lugging ace to just clam it – but his lip is pinched between teeth and his face is very red. It's cute, in a way, how Asahi flutters over him, but better circumstances would be preferred. You know, like earlier, when they were getting down. Kinda – sorta – okay, not really.

 

Nishinoya sighs and lets his boyfriend dab his nose with some fresh tissues, then sniffles the tiniest bit when a wad is stuck up his nostril – as gently as Asahi can manage in his mild panic, anyway. He wiggles around on the bed, feet not even touching the floor to his great discovery and displeasure. Nishinoya swings his feet anyway, tips of his shoes darting between Asahi's larger calves.

 

“Nishinoya,” Asahi starts up again after several awkward (Nishinoya doesn't want to call them awkward, but they are) moments of silence. Immediately, the libero shakes his head and waves his hand – the quota of apologetic words and guilty tones long fulfilled to his tissue-clogged head.

 

But then Asahi seizes his hand mid-air, pulls it down onto Nishinoya's thigh, squeezing it gently between large fingers and a warm palm. The small brunet looks up, eyes widening just a fraction at the low-key light in those russet eyes in front of him. Asahi eyes him from head to toe, then back up to his face as he stands from his perch on the stool. He's towering over Nishinoya, and while their vast height difference is nothing new, this larger gap of his sitting form versus Asahi's standing one sends the vaguest of shivers down his spine – a subtle, but steadily growing verve in the libero's bones.

 

Nishinoya's breath catches as Asahi drops his hand in favor of cupping his nape again.

 

 _Ah_.

 

The ace leans down slowly, nose brushing the tissues stuffed in Nishinoya's nostril. This time, they both stifle a giggle, but they're quick to die down as Asahi lifts Nishinoya face up – not-so-smooth thumbs brushing over his fleshy cheeks – and places a tentative kiss on his lips. Slow, chapped, but soft. Nishinoya leans heavily against the mouth, more like mushes their lips because hell if he knows what he's doing. He just knows that it feels good, if not a bit goofy – the nose thing and all that, and he wants more.

 

Asahi pulls away, lingers inches from Nishinoya's face. The tall brunet licks his bottom lip, and Nishinoya can't help but follow the pink tip as it travels. Damn it, saying that he _kinda_ wants that in his mouth right now might be a little much for his nervous boyfriend, so he settles with a large grin instead. It widens even more when the edgy spell seems to break from Asahi's face, and he's grinning too.

 

“Good on ya, Asahi-san,” Nishinoya jokes, slugging the big guy in the arm. The spiker fidgets for a moment, wringing his sleeve with his hand.

 

“Sorry, my mouth is kinda chapped.”

 

“I think I'd be a little weirded out if you were wearing lip gloss or something though, so it's all good.”

 

Asahi jumps, brows higher than probably should be possible, “As if I'd wear lip gloss!”

 

Nishinoya lets out a hearty laugh. Leave it to his boyfriend to get worked up over such silly things. He rubs his nose, and picks out the tissues, noting the small stain on the end with a grimace, and discards it in the nearby rubbish bin. Nishinoya then roams a gradual line up Asahi's body with playful gold eyes, a hand raising to bury in that sleeveless cardigan sweater while leaning back flirtatiously on the other, resting his cheek on his popped up shoulder.

 

“Care to try that again, big guy?”

 

The redness that spreads on Asahi's cheeks is pure gold.

 


	2. Scruff - Asanoya - Rated:T

Asahi discovers that his boyfriend really likes his facial hair.

* * *

 

Asahi's eyes squint with mirth, fingers jumping and pressing on the firm hips of his pint-sized boyfriend. He tries so hard not to laugh, the ticklish grazing of Nishinoya's lips munching playfully at his chin leaving tingles in his pink-dusted cheeks. The libero's arms wrap coyly around his neck, hands latching behind his nape and coaxing Asahi back into his nibbles. Asahi doesn't really get what's happening, but this random little attack of lips and teeth is definitely not unwelcome.

 

“Nishinoya,” he warbles with a weak chuckle, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he tries to swallow the bubbles in his belly. “What are you doing?” The moment the question leaves his lips, Nishinoya grins, mouth traveling along Asahi's scruffy jaw, humming as he squirms in Asahi's lap.

 

“What does it look like I'm doing, Asahi-san?” Nishinoya kisses a tender spot along a protruding tendon just under Asahi's ear. He shivers accordingly, body filling with warmth. It feels really good, really it does, but what is up with this firecracker tonight?

 

“Trying to eat my face, maybe?” the tall brunet mumbles humorously, fingers thrumming on Nishinoya's pelvic bones as the libero traces his lips back to his own mouth. Nishinoya eyes him, gold irises bright with mischief, and presses a quick, hard kiss right smack on Asahi's mouth.

 

“If we're going to call it that, maybe I should just...eat you up,” he darts out his tongue, licking Asahi's scruffy chin. The tall brunet's chest flutters, hands wandering about and thumbing down the bumpy ridges of his boyfriend's spine. Then, just as Nishinoya drops his mouth back down to his chin, it clicks.

 

_Ohhh._

 

Asahi's lips spread in a half grin, “You can't distract me long enough to make me forget to shave, Nishinoya.”

 

He watches the libero let out a bubbly whine, his butt wiggling in Asahi's lap.

 

“Are you sure?”  
“Quite sure.”

 

The cutest pout adorns Nishinoya's face (it's cute because goodness the way his lip puckers), his small hands resting on the spiker's shoulders, squeezing and massaging them, “Well damn, I like your scruffy face though.”

 

Asahi leans forward, smile practically splitting his face in half, and captures his boyfriend's lips – not that Nishinoya resists or anything.

 

“I am keeping the beard, you know,” Asahi reasons with a mock seriousness, eyeing his pouty boyfriend as he brushes his nose along Nishinoya's – kisses the small button tip.

 

“That doesn't count, you _always_ have that!”  
“Nishinoya...”  
“ _Asahi-san_.”

 

Asahi raises a brow, tilting his head and regarding the libero quietly. Goodness gracious, this guy could be a dork about the weirdest things. Nishinoya flares his nose, raising his hands to scratch along Asahi's scruffy jaw, letting the tall brunet pepper his mouth with one kiss after another – a tiny attempt on Asahi's part to placate the bundle of energy in his lap.

 

“ _Fiiiine_ ,” Nishinoya caves within moments. “But remember I totally dig this –“ The libero waves a hand around, finger drawing an invisible circle. “ –five o' clock shadow thing you got going on. Feel free to let it grow out again, okay?”

 

A baritone laugh rumbles from Asahi's throat, “Oh, I see how it is. You like it rough, huh?” His belly instantly starts to tickle deep down when Nishinoya purrs into his mouth, lids lowering.

 

“I dunno, do I, Asahi-san?”

 

“Well, only one way to find out,” Asahi flashes his teeth, sees the jolt of alarm from Nishinoya at his predatory display, but catches the libero in a bear hug before he can escape and proceeds to rub his scratchy face on Nishinoya's neck. He starts to shriek instantly, body convulsing under the attack and within moments, the small brunet bursts into gasping laughter. His hands paw at Asahi's face in feeble resistance.

 

“N-no fair, Asa – _hiii –_ Asahi-san, haha,” Nishinoya sputters helplessly, wriggling and bending in Asahi's arms. The tall brunet doesn't relent, simply ignores all the protests, chuckles as he pins his boyfriend within his embrace and peppers wet kisses between each scruffy onslaught.

 

Eventually, the libero in his arms can only cling at him, hiccuping for air. Asahi wants to feel bad – probably does a little, teeny bit, maybe – but ultimately finds his boyfriend's demeanor adorable, like most things Nishinoya does. He relents, and fiery gold eyes meet his gaze along with a feisty half-smirk.

 

“You sure...play hard ball...sometimes, Asahi-san,” Nishinoya wrinkles his nose as Asahi places a quick peck against it, lets out a puff of air through his nose.

 

Asahi pats Nishinoya's hips, and shrugs, “Gotta keep up with you somehow.”

 

“ _Yeahhh_ , as hot as you look with this,” the small brunet smooths a hand over Asahi's jawline, then playfully shoves the ace away. “I can't have you using that against me, you big doofus. Off you go.”

 

Asahi can only laugh as Nishinoya climbs off his lap and shoos him away to the bathroom.

 

Abandoned in the little room and facing the mirror, the tall brunet wipes a hand along the scruff of his face, and files that little piece of information away for later.

 


	3. It Can Wait - Daisuga - Rated: T

Daichi needs to study, Koushi thinks otherwise. 

* * *

 

 

“Koushi,” he breathes, voice choked from the onslaught of constant kisses from his more than enthusiastic lover. He almost explodes in laughter when nimble fingers grace his hips, shirt on a one way track up his body. The tingles in his belly aren't only from the tickles on his skin, but Daichi tries to pretend it is. He has an exam early tomorrow and this assault isn't making that top mark score come any easier.

 

But, _oh,_ do those nibbles on his jaw feel good. Just a little more wouldn't hurt, right? Right.

 

“Daichi, take off your clothes, come _on_ ,” the ash blond breathes, air hot and moist on Daichi's skin, just below his ear. He feels a wet tongue shortly after, trailing up the shell of his ear. Teeth nibbling. Whispers in his ear.

 

Dear _god_ , what is Koushi, an incubus?

 

“Daichi...” Somehow in the carnage of kisses and licks (and, _fuck_ , is that a hand dipping in his suddenly unbuttoned jeans?), Koushi gets the shirt over Daichi's head, throwing it carelessly to the floor. The look on the blond's face is eleven types of devious, and Daichi has the distinct feeling he isn't going to get that 'just a little more'. Probably more like 'not going to escape until 3am and one (or both) of them being unable to walk straight in the morning'

 

Damn it.

 

“Koushi. Koushi wait,” he slumps sloppily onto the bed with quite the insistent urging from his lover. “I have an exam in the morning, I need t-to study...”

 

Said lover crawls mercilessly into his lap, thighs tightening around Daichi's hips, playfully brushing his body against the brunet's. Fuck, he can't resist that, now can he? He hears the tiniest whine bubble from Koushi's throat, and can't exactly ignore the hardness in both of their pants, grinding – sending electricity through his veins.

 

“You've been studying all week,” Koushi murmurs softly, voice a sultry mix of purring and displeasure. “You've aced every exam since forever...play with me a little?”

 

The warmth radiating from Koushi's body feels rather intoxicating, and the flash of his facial beauty mark, followed by milky brown eyes practically peering into Daichi's soul rocks him to the core – from head to tingling toes. He's fighting a losing battle and he knows it. He wonders if he is even putting up a fight with the way his hands are already slipping under Koushi's shirt and groping at his supple flesh, callused thumb skirting over a pink nipple. That guttural moan that erupts from the ash blond's lips is absolutely sinful.

 

“Koushi, I – ugh,” he stutters brilliantly, eyes fluttering as the interruption called Koushi Sugawara and his wickedly possessive lips cover his own. Good god, so possessive and is that tongue slipping into his mouth?

 

“Please, Daichi.”

 

Yes, that is definitely tongue between Koushi's begging and heavy panting. And yes, that is also the sound of his resolve cracking into tiny little pieces as Koushi's lithe body rubs provocatively and fingers are dipping beneath the seam of his boxers. Yes, yes, _yes._ Resistance zero. Negative.

 

The ash blond pulls away with a wet pop, lips swollen and glistening with saliva, cheekbones painted pink on pale skin, and well, shit, Daichi can't resist that now can he? Not when his tongue is slipping out and curling up at the corner of his mouth.

 

Oh _fuck_ yes.

 

The stocky brunet cards a hand through Koushi's hair, lids low and voice dropping even lower, “It can wait.”

 

Daichi abruptly flips his lover over, a grin that could rival the devil's adorning his lips (though the one on Koushi's face makes him feel like he's gazing into a mirror), and proceeds to pepper that pale skin and flushed face with a well deserved barrage of affection.

 


	4. Panic - Iwaoi - Rated: T

 Tooru feels his voice fighting to the surface, despite the fact that he can't breathe.

* * *

 

It hurts.

 

It hurts like a jagged splinter, digging under the skin of his leg that he can neither reach or soothe. Dull pain that surges through Tooru's system like a disease, leaving him utterly frozen, eyes transfixed on the ceiling as he lays in bed.

 

He touches his forehead with a clammy hand, trying to ignore the forlorn sense of dread flooding his gut. Sighing, Tooru wipes the sweat beading at his brow with shaky fingers. He looks at the back of his hand, a sickly pale white. That feeling of discord tingles a little heavier, and Tooru finds it harder and harder to breathe.

 

“Iwa-chan,” he murmurs, turning his head to the spot next to him – empty. Cold to the touch, too, he learns as he fingers the neighboring pillow. Tooru sucks in a series of short breaths, and jolts when his leg stings again with renewed, painful jolts. He jerks to knock the feeling loose, and his stomach flips over instantly.

 

_His right leg won't move._

 

Nostrils flaring, the brunet attempts to lift the offended limb, bend his knee, wiggle his toes – _anything._ Nothing – only pain exists.

 

“Iwa-chan,” his voice teeters, rising in volume as he calls out, frantically tossing his gaze about the room. His heart begins to hammer, goosebumps spreading like spores on his skin. Looking around, Tooru discovers that he doesn't even recognize the room. Plain white, four walls, and a window that only reveals an impenetrable darkness outside, like a thick, black void.

 

“Iwa-chan!”

 

Tooru shoots up, palms sliding messily on the sheets as his leg throws him from his ascent, stuck to its spot as if caught in a bear trap – unrelenting and suffocating pain. He manages to clamber into a sitting position, and coughs because his throat is constricting as panic starts to set in.

 

_God, why can't I move my leg?_

 

He rips the stuffy blankets from his body. God, it hurts. His knee hurts!

 

Russet eyes narrow, zoom in on the distressed limb, and that distant, gut-wrenching feeling explodes into total chaos.

 

His right knee is black, darkened with a thick, tar-like substance that coats it from thigh to calf like a murky, disgusting web. Tooru feels his voice fighting to the surface, despite the fact that he can't breathe. Tiny whimpers cling to the back of his throat, refusing to come out.

 

_Iwa-chan!!_

 

Terrified and desperate, Tooru tries to wrench his leg free, yanking it this way and that, but only shooting prickles are the reward for his attempts. Coursing through his body and leaving his toes numb and thighs on fire. He hears the whimpers in his mind, clear as day, but no noise will leave his lips anymore, like no vocal chords exist in his throat. _Oh god, please stop._ He begs, trying his best to ignore the pain, that eerie white surrounding him – taunting him with its stark contrast to the sludge marring his limb.

 

A hand slams down onto the black mass as it slowly crawls down his leg, a feeble try at clawing it off. Tooru can only silently scream as the tar spreads, spreads until even his foot disappears under the void. Fear-stricken, Tooru digs his fingers into the sludge, but he can't even feel his knee in the mess, can't feel his leg at all – non existent.

 

He lets out what he imagines would be a panicked yelp – he can hear it in his mind regardless of his constricted throat – when his buried digits go numb within moments.

 

_No. No!!_

 

Tooru's mouth hangs open as he fights to scream, fights to free himself, thrashing and flailing as the blackness thins and spreads. It pools off the bed in putrid curtains, plopping in thick piles on the floor. The brunet's vision narrows on his trapped arm, the plague up to his elbow now. Slowly creeping, slowly devouring him. _Erasing him._

 

Where his right knee is supposed to be is only a shallow puddle, a remnant pile of decay. Shaking his head, Tooru feels the prickling of tears breaking the threshold of his weary eyes. He doesn't try to stop them, much too scared, too frantic – simply lets them spill down his blotchy cheeks and drip into his lap.

 

_Iwa-chan...help me._

 

As soon as the droplets hit the blanket, though, the once clear droplets bloom and warp into jet blackness. It instantly seizes him, wraps around his midsection within seconds. Tooru's trapped, any pursuit of freedom exhausted, all chance of escape rendered impossible.

 

He can't feel anything anymore as the void engulfs him up to his neck, and all he sees before the tar consumes him completely is an unforgiving landscape of blackness out that empty window.

 

_Iwa-chan...Iwa-_

 

“Iwa-chan! Iwa-chan!!”  
“Oikawa, _hey!_ ”

 

Caramel eyes snap open suddenly, body jumping – the sludge and blackness nowhere in sight as if snapped away by magic. Hands are on Tooru's face, and he can hear his name being murmured into his ear repeatedly, soothing him. Chest heaving, the brunet shivers and pops his mouth open and closed – no words come to him, afraid that his voice won't be there for him to speak with.

 

It's not until he feels a gentle, but firm pressure on his forehead that Tooru finally stills, eyes searching out the source. He finds dark eyes inches from his, Hajime watching him with a clearly strained expression, his forehead nuzzling Tooru's.

 

“I-Iwa-ch...leg...my –“  
“Shh, it's fine. You're fine. Calm down, breathe.”

 

Tooru's hands search out shakily for his best friend's skin, touching the warmth he desperately seeks. He's so cold.

 

“My knee...”

 

A soft squeeze on his leg, just above his right knee, silences him. He feels it, the solidity of that one touch grounding him instantly, calms him and allows him to take a deep breath for the first time in what seems like hours. It lets him look around the room without that lingering sense of panic.

 

Creamy off-white walls, not the disturbing pearl white from his nightmare. The neighboring bed, with messy sheets half thrown off the bed. A dim orange light peeking from behind cheap hotel blinds, partially illuminating the dark oak nightstand to his right, and the white knee supporter sitting atop it. And there, laying propped in the small space between the bed and the wooden stand – a metal staff with a worn out, padded handle.

 

A walking stick.

 

He breathes quietly for several moments – in through the nose, out through his mouth, just like Hajime's told him in the past – and lets his head sink back into the pillow.

 

“Iwa-chan?” he whispers as Hajime finally settles back next to him. Tooru can't help but snuggle a little closer to his best friend – his pillar of comfort and support.

 

“Mmm?”  
“Do you think...it's going to go well?”

 

The dark brunet regards him for a moment, then turns to look at the ceiling. Tooru can't look up with him though, still just a little irked from his dream, so he simply looks at Hajime instead.

 

“What, your surgery?”  
Tooru nods, “Mm.”  
“Having last minute worries, huh...”

 

“I've had these thoughts everyday,” the brunet pauses, fidgeting. “I don't want to stop playing volleyball, Iwa-chan.”

 

A solemn quiet settles in the room for several moments, not unsettling, but Tooru can't help but turn onto his side, leaning closer to rest his forehead against Hajime's shoulder. He breathing calms even further when fingers reach over, thumb tenderly rubbing smooth, gentle circles on his injured knee.

 

“Stupid...I've never seen you surrender to a challenge before. Why start now?”

 

Tooru smiles, light and watery, nuzzles even closer and nods. Sighing with a lighthearted huff, Hajime turns onto his side as well, facing the brunet. He reaches a hand around to rest on Tooru's nape, and pulls him forward until their foreheads are touching once again – the ultimate comfort for the injured setter. With one hand caressing his nape, and the other on his knee, Tooru closes his eyes, finally feeling safe enough to do so.

 

“Iwa-chan?”  
“Quiet now. Go back to sleep; we have to be at the surgical center early.”  
“Will you stay here with me?”  
“Does it look like I'm going anywhere? _Idiot_.”

 

Tooru smiles, “Okay.”

 

When he falls asleep, only minutes later, the only thing he dreams of this time is a gentle warmth on his knee.

 

 


	5. Invitation - Kurodai - Rated: G

Kuroo isn't exactly graceful in the flirting department. Especially when the target is Daichi. 

* * *

 

 

 

The arid, flat chime of the convenient store doorbell goes ignored as Kuroo wanders past the magazine rack in the entryway, languidly grabbing a plastic shopping basket as he passes the tall stack. He tosses a short nod and friendly smile towards the small blonde clerk manning the register as she greets him absently between customers.

 

Clicking the black handles between his palm and fingers, the raven-haired moseys down a middle aisle, pulling out a glaring yellow stationary from his coat pocket – a list of ingredients for dinner and random snacks, half crossed off with messy scribbles. Hanging loosely from his arm is a plastic bag from the market with the items already purchased – Curry roux, carrots, potatoes, along with ginger and daikon for tomorrow's meal.

 

Of course, Kuroo mentally muses with a dorky smile, he saves the best purchases for last – candies and snacks. Wiggling his fingers, the raven-haired plucks a pack of Hi Chew off the shelf. Following along the lengthy displays, he also plucks up some Crunky Popjoy, Chelsea caramels, Kinoko no Yama, and his personal favorite – Strawberry Pocky.

 

He owns a sweet tooth unrivaled by anyone in Tokyo, after all, and he needs some motivation for the all nighter he's about to pull in preparation for exams next week.

 

On second thought, Kuroo grabs a second box of the pink biscuit sticks, curling his nose at the prospect of holing up for the weekend to _study_.

 

Stopping at the end of the aisle, the raven-haired pulls out his cell phone to check the time.

 

_It's usually around this time that -_

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a single person standing at the back of the store, right in front of the cooler display with various chilled onigiri, sandwiches and other ready to heat items. He recognizes that dark navy blazer instantly, and stuffs the phone back in his pocket.

 

He takes a heavy breath. _Alright, I can do this..._

 

Kuroo approaches the lone man, watching him examine the small onigiri in his hand with a little too much seriousness to be normal. The ex-Nekoma captain eyes the other items in the tacky blue basket, grimacing at the utter lack of healthiness in the cups of instant ramen and yakisoba bread.

 

He steps up next to the fellow, less healthy shopper, and coughs, “You know, I heard that the salmon-mayo onigiri doesn't digest well with duck ramen, Sawamura-kun.”

 

Without budging or blinking, the brunet replies shortly, “I highly doubt my choice of dinner is any of your business, Kuroo- _san._ ”

 

Yikes.

 

“Where I'm from, onigiri aside, eating instant ramen and other sodium-stuffed foods three days straight is rather unhealthy for a growing young adult.”

 

At that, Daichi turns his head to nail Kuroo with a critical, flat stare. The raven-haired lurches back, a thick knot lodging in his throat. His heart also thumps rather rebelliously – the traitor.

 

“I believe...where _I'm_ from, we call someone who knows what you eat throughout the week creepy,” the brunet snarks with a straight-laced grin.

 

Letting out an awkward croak, Kuroo sweeps a hand through his bedhead hair, frowning as it falls back into original shape. He lets his hand drop to his side, the bag on his arm rustling briefly. Okay, maybe he didn't think that quip entirely through, but come on, a little credit is warrented here. 

 

“Touché,” he mutters, pinching his lips into a thin line when Daichi returns to his food scrutiny. He bobbles side to side for a moment. He doesn't quite remember the brunet being so coarse, but then again, they aren't exactly friends either. Rivals, maybe? The raven-haired sighs for a moment, then mentally slaps his face and throws on a cheeky grin that he knows Daichi isn't paying attention to.

 

“We...could call it fellow captains' concern?”

 

“We've been in college for over a year, I don't know about you, but I don't play volleyball anymore.”

 

“Fellow students' concern, then,” Kuroo tries, setting his basket of snacks – ones that he really wants to stuff in his mouth at this point – on the steel edge of the chilled foods display.

 

His reward is another flat stare from the brunet, “Being fellow students in a school of over 25,000?”

 

“We have advanced calculus together!”

 

“Oh, I didn't notice...”

 

_Ouch._ Cunning and blunt, a deadly combo for sure. Kuroo fidgets, scratching his nape as he watches Daichi put the salmon-mayo back and grab two salmon roe onigiri instead – throwing them absentmindedly into his basket. The raven-haired can't help but shudder at the idea of eating that day in and day out.

 

“Is there something else you need, Creeper-san?” the amused question snaps Kuroo from his stupor, leaving him a little surprised – but more than pleased – that his grocery neighbor didn't leave him in the dust.

 

Done with trying to be cheeky, Kuroo shrugs, “Guess I'm just _reallllly_ curious as to why someone as strict and seemingly well-kept as you eats like...that.”

 

The brunet sighs heavily, leaning on one foot, basket against his hip, “I've been eating take out and convenience store foods like... _this_ for a long time now. Even in high school. Parents work late, so they never bothered with meals. They left money, and I needed to put as much time in for exams outside of practices so I could keep playing volleyball until graduation. So...here we are.”

 

That is not the answer Kuroo was expecting. Teen rebellion or maybe an inane fixation on salty foods, but this was just...disheartening.

 

“And you don't have time now?” he can't help but ask, doubly curious about the brunet he's been so interested in since their first practice match almost three years ago.

 

“While going to Tokyo University? During exam time? Yeah...no.” Daichi sets himself straight, adjusting the plastic handles in his fist before regarding Kuroo one last time. “Anything else you need to interrogate me about or are we done here?”

 

Kuroo lets out a throaty laugh, “Well, it's not like I could just ask you out for dinner at my place, now could I? Color me concerned, at least.”

 

For a moment, Daichi stares at him – brow raised and lips pushed out just barely.

 

“Really? I honestly think I would rather have that blunt approach than your awkward attempt at flirting with me.”

 

If Kuroo had a drink, he would be spitting it in this instance. He blinks owlishly, craning over to stare at the brunet, mouth dropping gracelessly open.

 

“O-oh?” he stammers, collecting himself none too subtly.

 

Daichi tucks an arm under the other, a mischievous grin adorning his relaxed, almost humored features, “Oh ho ho.”

 

Well shit, now he's just teasing.

 

The raven-haired scoffs his foot on the glossy floor, sending his view up to the ceiling before dropping it back to his companion, “Wanna have dinner at my place? I'm, uh...making curry.” He holds up the plastic bag, as if providing proof of his claim.

 

The brunet is silent for several moments, then –

 

“Sure.”

 

Oh...Oh!

 

“Cool,” Kuroo mentally clenches a fist in victory. “I just need to buy this stuff. My apartment's just down the block.”

 

“Alright,” Daichi maneuvers around him, heading towards the register at the front of the store.

 

“You're still buying that?” Kuroo blurbs suddenly, pointing at the basket of offensive foods in Daichi's grasp.

 

Daichi makes it all of four steps before turning back to Kuroo. “Yes, I'm still buying this stuff too. Eating happens to be a _daily_ requirement.”

 

The raven-haired nods dumbly, face blooming with a brilliant red. Man, did this guy's sass throw him off sometimes.

 

“Right, right,” he replies, making several large steps to catch up to Daichi's stride. “You could always just eat at my place for dinner from now on. It's not much difference cooking for two instead of one.”

 

The brunet pats him lightly on the shoulder, “Let's just start with date number one, shall we Creeper-san?”

 

Kuroo can only nod silently, coughing in embarrassment as Daichi chuckles all the way to the front counter.

 

Touché.

 

 


	6. Images - Iwaoi - Rated: G

Tooru's attention to detail has always been his strength, as well as his weakness.

 

* * *

 

 

Rounding the corner and heading up a grainy set of steel steps, Tooru lets an audible yawn slip through his lips, a hand clamping around his elbow as he stretches his arm overhead. He feels the tension in his throat, the ache in his knee from lack of rest – exhaustion twitching in his nerves and sleepy tears prickling his russet eyes.

 

Of course, all of these symptoms are a result of the brunet staying up way too late, watching footage of rival teams and upcoming opponents in the Inter-High tournament. He didn't _mean_ to, not really anyway, but somewhere between eight-thirty in the evening and two in the morning, he let himself get swallowed up by a vortex of rapid shouting between players and the shrill squeaks of footwear on glossy gymnasium floors.

 

Eyes never leaving the headache-inducing brightness buried in a sea of darkness that is his bedroom. Even in his lethargic state, Tooru remembers every single movement on those courts. The bend of every wrist as the setter tossed, the twist of ankles that could disable a player with one wrong extension, every dive receive and fanning of fingers as a blocker stopped a spiker in their tracks.

 

Each vivid brush of detail inking into the back of the brunet's eyelids, playing on repeat like a broken record. Memorizing everything is the only way he'll – no, _they'll –_ win against their speed-growth opponents. Against Shiratorizawa and Karasuno.

 

Against Ushijima and Tobio.

 

His lids twitch, sleep deprivation scratching deep in his skull, making his eyes protest from the light of the club room. No one in sight, Tooru starts to change into his practice attire, entirely sluggish in his demeanor. He blinks the sting away, digging in his slim locker to fish out his spare knee supporter, and knocks the door shut with an elbow as he turns around.

 

Tooru abruptly jumps on the spot as he comes face to face with dark eyes and an irritated stare – his right leg – still mid-lift – plopping down on the bench moments later once his heart returns from his throat.

 

“Iwa-chan, you startled me,” the brunet whines, crouching over and sliding the white fabric up his calf. He doesn't get a response, which both makes him fearful and want to cover his head in case of hand-to-cranium collision. He straightens slowly, and finds that same disgruntled facade glaring holes into his retinas.

 

Tooru steps back with both hands raised, “Iwa-chan?”

 

Hajime leans forward, the bench between them blocking his way, but he's still able to get dangerously into Tooru's space with the lockers acting as a barrier behind him.

 

The dark brunet squints eerily, “You stayed up too late again last night, didn't you?”

 

His deep, throaty statement – Tooru knows it's not a question, because they know each other much too well – echoes in the brunet's ears, and he can only shake his head vigorously – an ingrained habit when facing the flaring aura of his best friend.

 

“No, no! I didn't! I slept!”

 

“Ahn??” Hajime growls, stepping over the bench and reaching a tense hand towards the tall brunet. Tooru backpedals, vocals failing from lethargy and any attempt to cover his white lie fails, as does his physical escape by means of the row of lockers at his back.

 

“I, uh, well I did watch footage of games from Tobio-chan's team...and maybe Waka-chan's, but I did go to bed! Eventually...okay, at two – don't look at me like that Iwa-chan –“ Tooru's rampaging string of words halts immediately like a stopper clogging his flow of words as Hajime seizes his warm cheek with a rough palm. The second palm joins the first moments later, cupping his face, and the spiky brunet is in Tooru's face, eyeing him carefully – turning his face this way and that like a parent checking their child for injuries.

 

A calloused thumb brushes just above the crest of Tooru's cheek, then pinches the round of flesh.

 

“As if you can lie to me, idiot Oikawa,” Hajime's frown deepens the barest bit. “You have dark circles under your eyes.”

 

For the longest while, Tooru remains still, the heat from his best friend's hands pooling and seeping into his cheeks. Even if the dark circles didn't exist, he knows Hajime would have caught him in his lie anyway. That's just how they are, that's just how _Hajime_ is. Seeing through him like looking through glass since long, long ago.

 

Pursing his lips, the tall captain slowly lurches forward, resting his forehead on the juncture of Hajime's shoulder. His fingers wander, finding the low edges of the spiky brunet's shirt, and tugs the at the seam. Sighs when Hajime's fingers linger over his forehead before dropping down to grip at his bony elbows, not moving closer nor retreating from Tooru's hold.

 

Tooru closes his eyes, exhales to prevent the aroma of soaps and musky cologne from invading his senses. The burning still lingers in his cheeks, flustered by the intimacy of Hajime's earlier touch and yet comforted by their close proximity all the same. A paradox of sorts that Tooru doesn't want to pick apart just yet.

 

“Iwa-chan, you're such a mom,” he teases instead, trying to diffuse the distant rumbles of thunder in his stomach, then freezes when Hajime turns his face towards him, thin lips right in view.

 

They're so _close_.

 

So close that Tooru can see the light split down the middle of his best friend's bottom lip – a biting tick he knows Hajime does when he's irritated or in deep concentration. So close that if Tooru just leaned the tiniest bit forward, their mouths would touch. He pulls his lips into a thin line, as if to escape the random wave of thoughts crossing his mind – the overdose film reel of memories from last nights clip viewing sweeping under the edge of his brain.

 

His mouth drops opens –

 

“Ouch!!” Tooru yelps, startling to life – head throbbing and everything from head to toe suddenly wide awake. He rubs his head – where Hajime just thumped him with a sideways jut of his skull – and snaps upright. His face burns even hotter in embarrassment as he fixes his gaze on his best friend, watches him cross his arms and burst with a half-grin.

 

“Awake now?” the spiky brunet asks playfully, quirking a brow.

 

Tooru puffs his cheeks, seemingly unable to tear his gaze from Hajime's mouth, “You're not nice at all, Iwa-chan.”

 

Laughing, Hajime walks around him, pausing only to pinch one of Tooru's cheeks, “Yeah, you're awake. Now, let's go practice.”

 

Flaming red, the brunet follows after his retreating ace, eyes still dark with sleepy circles. But instead of the bright, flickering screen of jumping people and bending limbs, Tooru can only remember the warm image of his best friend's lips.

 


	7. Sleep Habits - Asanoya - Rated: G

Asahi learns of his boyfriend's rather silly - and adorable - sleeping habit. 

* * *

 

 

Asahi is a sound, heavy sleeper. There isn't much that can wake him once he's comfortable under his duvet – with a leg habitually sticking out – and head stuffed half under his pillow.

 

Shove him off the bed, and he'll sleep in a rumpled pile on the floor. Loud snoring only makes him bury his head with a light huff, largely undisturbed. He is the envy of many, well rested and ready for every day he awakens to.

 

So when the brunet wakes up at two in the morning, stomach in a state of tickles, Asahi is left utterly confused. Rustling into a position of normalcy rather than his wild sprawling across the mattress, Asahi blinks – once, twice – and it's not for a few drowsy moments that he realizes the ticklish sensation skirting over his ribs like a fleeting breeze.

 

He glances down after a quick rub to his eyes, a goofy smile pinching at his lips as he spots the peeking black hair bristling out like a worn out toothbrush from the thick blanket. After a long, silent pause, he crosses off the feeling as a random ding in his sleep perfection, and scoots the slightest bit back under the covers. Then promptly jolts as _it_ comes back again, lacing Asahi's stomach with chills.

 

A small huff passes between his dry lips, mind officially awake and in curiosity mode.

 

“Yuu,” he murmurs lowly, hand tugging out the corner of the comforter from the bundle beside him. He uncovers his small boyfriend, silly little fuzzies filling up his insides at the sight of the libero curling further into his side from the sudden onslaught of chilly bedroom air. Of course, Yuu's shirt riding half up his torso probably doesn't help either, Asahi muses with a gentle chuckle – tugging the clothing down as deftly as possible.

 

No use waking the both of them, after all.

 

Eyeing the short brunet, Asahi tries to spot the source of his sudden and sporadic jitters. He doesn't spot anything out of the ordinary – a leg haphazardly tossed over Asahi's thigh, small drool spot at the corner of Yuu's mouth (and Asahi's shirt, he notes with a silent snort), the early signs of matted down, messy bed hair, and a squishy cheek pressing against his chest. The typical adorable post-sleep display in the works, nothing unusual at all.

 

Hmm.

 

Giving a small shrug, Asahi chalks it up to his imagination. A rare oddity or something, like the sheets shifting just so as to rouse him from his sleep. The ace is ticklish in the first place, to his own chagrin and Yuu's delight, and it's really all he can think of in light of this situation.

 

He buries his head back into the pillow after one last look at his mumbling boyfriend, and just as he's about to throw the covers back over Yuu, hand mid-toss, it happens. It's so brief, but it makes his abs flex from the sensitivity and his skin officially break out in goosebumps.

 

Asahi literally rips the blanket off the both of them and zeroes his wide eyes back down to the bundle currently curling in protest at the second wave of cool air hitting his skin. This time though, the brunet spots it, locks onto it with a wave of crazed bewilderment. Then seconds later, he simply stares at the source, and Asahi is quite certain it isn't an illusion or sleepy delirium.

 

_Oh heck._

 

Yuu rustles from Asahi's movements, burying further into the brunet's side to absorb the warmth found there. A lightly closed fist makes its way over to rest on Asahi's hip bone, almost brushing under his night shirt, but the ace catches it.

 

Slowly, almost imperceptible, the tiny brunet thrums his fingers, palm pawing softly at Asahi's skin. _Kneading_ him in his sleep – no different than a pleased cat. The ace bites his lip, half from that stinking tickle and half from how utterly ridiculous and adorable this whole affair is. He feels butterflies bouncing around his chest, the quota for daily cute factors reaching their limit – and they haven't even started the day yet.

 

Nearly plowed over by the warmth filling his belly, Asahi reaches over and caresses a hand through Yuu's hair, fingers rubbing the small brunet's scalp in slow, circular motions. He thumbs the libero's temple, runs the digit down the soft curve of his cheek and humorously wipes away that small patch of saliva at the corner of Yuu's lips.

 

The gentle ministrations make the slumbering man lean up into Asahi's palm, the tiniest incoherent mumble breathing through his mouth. The ace can't stop the gentle grin from spreading across his features, eyes softening as he watches Yuu's lips wiggle a bit before letting out a long exhale from his nose.

 

His boyfriend really is like a cat. Snuggly and warm. Cute? Very much so. Tickling his skin and keeping him awake? Still unbearably charming, but slightly troublesome for a certain tall brunet who is _not_ a morning person. Still, Asahi can't help but sigh in amusement, scratching the pad of his index finger under Yuu's chin before shimmying a little lower on the bed. 

 

Wrapping an arm around Yuu's head, Asahi threads his fingers through the ones assaulting his side. The libero lets him take his hand without stirring, still kneads at the tall brunet's knuckles, but it's much better than Yuu's unintentional assault on Asahi's person. His sleep too. 

 

Messily, the ace tosses the duvet back over them, once again burying his boyfriend and relishing the warmth that nuzzles deeper against his body. He shifts slightly onto his side, leaning down to place a small kiss on the barely visible top of Yuu's head before settling back into place, and falls asleep minutes later. 

 


	8. Jekyll and Hyde - Daichi/Asahi/Suga - Rated: M+

A pair of split-soul lovers for Asahi alone, his very own Jekyll and Hyde. 

* * *

 

 

 

Asahi doesn't remember a time such as this, folding over and spilling at the seams so effortlessly before he's two feet into the room – buzzing with a dazzling sense of excitement and fret all at once.

 

The bedroom door closes gently behind him, but the brunet is too busy following the blond in front of him, allowing that waving hand to summon him closer to the bed like an enchantment.

 

Or maybe a spell of oncoming calamity.

 

He feels dizzy, shivering all over from the countless kisses from the moment he came home to now – lips swollen and body prickling with heat.

 

A hand at his back prompts Asahi forward, rubbing up and down his spine gently, but the pressure is telling. Impatience, neediness – the brunet feels it in his skin too, he understands the sentiment all too well.

 

He lifts a knee to the bed, sinking in as russet eyes stare straight ahead where Koushi waits for him – the smile on the blond's lips puckered with mischief. Caramel irises beckoning him just as much as the hand reaching towards him, finger curling in a come hither motion.

 

“Come here, Asahi...” Koushi murmurs, voice airy and smooth like velvet. “We missed you, so don't make us wait anymore, okay?”

 

Asahi feels his mind slipping, all his insides swirling and making him tipsy like he's consumed an overabundance of liquor. His breath hitches when fingers dip into the seam of his sweat pants, pulling them down as he crawls on the bed. He lets them peel from his thighs and pops each knee up obediently, one by one, allowing the brunet behind him to strip him down obscenely.

 

Looking up through thick lashes, Asahi skirts a hand up Koushi's knee as he approaches, tilts his face into the blond's outstretched hand and lets the warmth caress his cheek. He can't help but kiss the palm as it passes over his mouth, and shudders as two fingers push into his mouth – hooking on his bottom row of teeth.

 

Yelping, Asahi is yanked into Koushi's lap, clumsy hands jumping onto the blond's pale shoulders. He shoots a bewildered look to his lover, but those same fingers tug him down until Koushi's kissing at the corner of his mouth – teeth nipping insistently at his lips.

 

The bed dips directly behind the tall brunet, and within seconds he feels another pair of hands at his nape, parting smoothly down the expanse of Asahi's collar and over the curves of his shoulders. Plush lips peck at his neck, and a firm body presses flush against him. Asahi curls up into himself, lightly moaning at the hardness nestling between his spread legs.

 

“Dai – Koush – ,” Asahi mutters helplessly between Koushi's kisses, thighs quivering at the touches roaming down his spine, then cupping his rear with a sultry squeeze. Asahi wishes he could catch his breath, but between increasingly hard kisses and a wet tongue delving into his mouth, there is no air to be had.

 

The remainder of what is left simply gushes from Asahi's lungs when a random pair of fingers trace down his sternum, curving around the swell of a pectoral and pinching a nipple. He jerks forward, and it's almost like Asahi's floating on cloud nine. Only the touches barraging him from the front and back – random in their trajectory but relentless in their pursuit for his sensitive spots – keep him grounded on their bed.

 

“ _Asahi..._ ” both lovers murmur and hot air washes over his system, their bodies moving even closer – pinning him between them.

 

Asahi doesn't remember a time that he's felt this much like a needy, convoluted mess. Almost like a light switch, his skin and bones and hypersensitive nerves are all screaming at once with an unsubtle flash, and he's left gasping for air as if his life depends on it.

 

Behind him, Daichi gropes his ass over his underwear, spreading his cheeks and rutting between them suggestively, but gently. But perching over Koushi's lap, Asahi's squirming and whining as pale fingers pinch and scratch at him. Teeth gnawing at his lips, dragging him down fast enough that Asahi has to bow over, and Koushi shifts to attack the tall brunet's throat with a crazed fervor.

 

A pool of bubbles erupt from the Asahi's belly, mind racing and heart rattling like a jackhammer as the startling roughness at his neck intensifies. He whimpers low in his throat, the only pillar keeping him from collapsing entirely is the man behind him, still pressing flush against him and peppering soft kisses at his neck up to his ear.

 

“Asahi,” Daichi murmurs hotly. “Do you feel good?”

 

He manages a low gurgle in response, the nails graining along his body lights him on fire – goosebumps spreading like a deep-seated virus, pores rupturing with arousal.

 

Absently, Asahi looks up at the ceiling, nostrils flaring with sharp exhales. He can almost guess at how many blooming red and purple spots now mar his flesh, and wonders if there would even be a naked spot on him were Daichi and Koushi to paint his body with color under their fingertips – touches devouring him from head to toe.

 

With a jolt, Asahi realizes that both sets of hands are beyond south – bundling at his groin. He feels his underwear peeling down his taut thighs, stretched tight with barely enough room for Daichi to reach a hand between his legs and stroke the tender span of flesh between ass and erection languidly. All the while Koushi keeps biting at every patch of skin his mouth can reach, his own hand dipping down to brush a teasing finger down the underside of the jutting member tapping at his chest.

 

Asahi whimpers at the amalgam of sensations at his groin, caressing limbs tangling like a web that the tall brunet can only wriggle helplessly within. He tosses a hand back to attach at Daichi's firm thigh, fingers splaying over the tanned skin and gripping for purchase while the other remains on Koushi's shoulder as he lets out a wet pant. He grinds into them, and groans heavily at the furious licks of heat that chase him.

 

“Oh, Asahi,” Koushi coos between nibbles. “Look at you...so beautiful. Daichi, if only you could see his face right now...utterly filthy.”

 

The hum at Asahi's ear from said stocky brunet leaves him melting, and leans back into the hand that cups at the back of his head – pulls the hair tie loose, buries fingers into his freed locks of hair. Asahi cranes his head to the side and messily meets Daichi for a needy kiss, mouth molding instantly to his lover.

 

He twitches hard as Koushi squeezes him harder, hand circling up in a twisting motion around his girth. Asahi can't help but pitch his hips the slightest bit, friction between his legs too electrifying and sweet to keep upright. His legs automatically spread wider, and the frantic tingling of his nerves sets him ablaze all over again.

 

Daichi pants against Asahi's mouth, tongue darting out to lick at the little patch of scruff on his chin before diving back between open lips, “Asahi, you feel amazing...”

 

From the front, watching his lovers feverishly kiss, Koushi chuckles, face leaning forward to rest against the tall brunet's chest and nuzzling a cheek over his heart.

 

“Does it feel good when Daichi kisses you, Asahi? When we touch you like this? I want to hear your voice, tell us,” Koushi says with a low vibrato, caramel eyes gleaming as the hand around Asahi's erection increases ever so slightly in speed. “Let us hear you.”

 

Asahi thinks he pants out a gravelly 'Yes _...yes..._ ' as his body twists and convulses, naturally tightening with curled up desire at their touches. He doesn't think it matters all too much how he answers anyway, since Daichi trades him off to Koushi and the ash blond renders his words mute with a harsh claim of his lips.

 

The tall brunet's stomach coils tight like a corkscrew. His nails dig into the skin of his lovers all while rocking his hips in a sloppy circular motion. Mindless babbling leaving his lips, Asahi arches back as one of Daichi's hands palm his forehead and the other flirts between the cleft of his ass – digits wet and rubbing softly as they're sinking in. The pads of Daichi's fingers curl inward, scissoring and leaving the tall brunet a weeping mess in his lovers' arms as he peaks within moments, the pressure instantly shoving Asahi off his mountain of building crescendo with long-mastered precision.

 

“Asahi,” a gentle whisper from behind –

“ _Asahi_ ,” a heady growl from his front –

 

He can only moan wetly to their call, lulling and dropping limp into their joined affection like a siren's song – two pairs of arms wrapping around him, and whispering lavish words of love in his ears.

 

Exhausted, Asahi's vision lazily shifts from one lover to the other.

 

A soft Daichi and a rough Koushi – The eternal conundrum.

 

Yet, it's always like this, once their bedroom door closes. A distinct transition that shifts into place as quick as the snap of fingers. Leaving Asahi windswept under the backwards demeanor of his lovers, yet it never fails to instill an aching pleasure down to his core. Once that door closes, Daichi's barb-wired demeanor and Koushi's maternal, nurturing soul melt, mix and reforge into something entirely different – rare, naked and only for Asahi's eyes.

 

And Asahi comes undone for their distilled, raw personas, spirals down into a pit of euphoria from Koushi's rough mapping and Daichi's silken caresses. Koushi's bites and Daichi's kisses. Erotic words and sensual praises.

 

A pair of split-soul lovers for Asahi alone, his very own Jekyll and Hyde.

 


	9. Bruises - Asanoya - Rated: T

_"You pick the weirdest times to be flirty, you know that?"_

* * *

 

__

An imbued silence litters the air, two lone occupants nestling at the back of the gymnasium equipment room in one of the far back dingy corners. Behind the messily deposited bin of volleyballs, Nishinoya digs a sweaty palm into the stack of glaring blue mats that he is barely seated upon, fingers scratching lines back and forth as he fidgets. The trill of nails scrapping against thick vinyl is only half as distracting as the libero wants it to be, even with the twinge-inducing sound that greets his ears with each drag.

 

Only a scant amount of Nishinoya's wired perceptions are even regarding the sole noise in the dusky room, and the rest – much more intense – is zoned in with needle-sharp precision on the tall brunet kneeling in front of him.

 

He lets out a throaty hum when a thumb brushes along the leg seam of his jersey shorts, vibrant orange fabric crimping up just so and exposing the entirety of his knee cap along with a rather slinky dose of bare thigh.

 

Even in the dim lighting, Nishinoya can see the start of purples and yellow under the surface of his pale skin – watches it disappear from view as the tall brunet places a lavish peppering of feathery kisses upon the spot. The libero's vision shifts to his companion, Asahi gazing at the afflicted spot as if reading a summary on the back of a book, eyes low and focused as he sweeps plush lips over hot skin.

 

“Asahi-san,” Nishinoya starts, but finds himself pinching his lips shut just as quickly when the pads of an index and middle finger slowly trace down the crook of his leg. He thinks it might be better to not say much else, the air in his lungs already deflating like a spent balloon. Bending at the toes, Nishinoya's foot slides forward just a bit as he gives the tall brunet a little more room – a heaping pile of morbid titillation exposing him to the elements.

 

The libero sucks in a tiny breath, sitting on pins and needles when the man at his feet exhales over the supple side of his knee, and a lingering warmth crawls even further up his spine – nape prickling as the little hairs stand on end. Asahi's languid exploration of his limb leaves Nishinoya more than a little winded, the spiker's breath as he lets out a nasally puff washes over his goose-pimpled flesh.

 

Looking out at the closed, large double doors, the small brunet only hopes he can maybe distract himself a little, the intimacy from their proximity and Asahi's soft touches seeping easily into his skin. His pores feel like they're laced with heat, encompassing Nishinoya with an aura that makes him tingly all over. Even the whiffs of wood lacquer and old leather don't mask the invasion of Asahi's natural scent – hints of deodorant and fresh sweat floating around in his nostrils in small waves every time the man shifts below him.

 

When Asahi lightly inches his leg open, the distant tickle in the back of Nishinoya's mind come stampeding to the forefront, golden brown irises watching the ace's every movement with acute scrutiny. Asahi's other hand trails down his untouched leg, slow like dripping molasses, and grips at his ankle – thumb pressing gently against the bone. The libero jerks the tiniest bit, muscles flexing in protest at the sting of another discovered bruise.

 

Asahi soothes it with a brief stroke, fingers splaying out in a wide arc and massaging up and down the small brunet's calf, placing pressure in carefully picked spots that make Nishinoya feel like jelly.

 

Nishinoya stiffens a gasp when the spiker nips a small line up his inner thigh, fingers nudging a pant leg up until it's a crumpled bunch at his groin. He continues to peck a flurry of kisses up Nishinoya's thigh, the little pops of Asahi's lips reminding him of droplets of water leaking from a faucet – though this drives him a different kind of crazy.

 

“Nishinoya,” the tall brunet murmurs, voice reticent as if divulging a dirty secret. He tilts his head up from between the libero's legs, blinking slowly as a lazy smile creeps onto his features. Puffing his cheeks, Nishinoya cards his hand around Asahi's head, returning to cup his lightly flushed cheek. An airy kiss greets his hand, Asahi turning into his small palm as it passes.

 

“Asahi-san,” he grumbles under his breath, lip pushing out in a tiny pout. “You pick the weirdest times to be flirty, you know that? That fascinated with my bruises?”

 

While he does go red in the face, Asahi simply scoots closer into Nishinoya's lap, straightening up on bony knees so that he's level with the libero's chest.

 

Asahi's mouth quirks sideways, contemplative, “I guess I do...”

 

“ 'cept I don't get bruises on the insides of my thighs, Asahi-san,” Nishinoya quips, pinching the tall brunet's chin and scratching his beard absently with a fingernail.

 

Asahi looks down between Nishinoya's legs, making the libero cluck in embarrassment and wiggle in the arms that wrap loosely around his waist moments later.

 

“I dunno,” the tall brunet muses aloud, shrugging one shoulder. “Looks like you do to me...”

 

Lifting a brow, Nishinoya peers down at his legs. Seconds later, his face bursts with a searing red, and he swats at a chuckling Asahi with a flustered hand.

 

 

 

 


	10. Treetops - Tsukkiyama - Rated: G

_“Do you think dinosaurs could reach the stars?”_

 

* * *

 

 

“Shuuki, it's here! Over here, come on!” the enthusiastic, nine year old Tadashi motions towards his blond companion with a wide swing of his arm as he sprints ahead – almost stumbling over the long trail of his mustard yellow scarf that drags on the ground.

 

Breathing out a puff of chilly November air, Kei trudges after him up a barren hill, dry grass crunching under his feet with each step. The brunet calls his name again, retreating out of sight over the crest of the mini mountain. Squinting an eye, Kei ignores the slight lisp Tadashi has given to his nickname – a product of the hyper brunet losing his last baby tooth right in the front row. Kei reaches the peak, narrowing his vision on the single tree atop the hill, and wipes the condensation from his glasses as he watches his friend jump about.

 

Well, kind of friend. Kei's only known the kid for a couple weeks – the brunet approached him with heaps of blinding admiration for some scuffle Kei seemed to put a stop to previously. Hm.

 

Walking closer and ignoring the incoherent babbling from the brunet beside him, Kei glances up the thick trunk of the tree, crackling ash brown bark trailing up and up until the stump scatters off into various sized paths in twisting motions. It reminds the blond of a web, or a winding crack in glass. Even he is a little bit dazzled by the colors of burnt crimson and sunny-gold leaf clusters that the dark wood branches vanish into without a trace to be seen within the palette of warmth.

 

A leaf snaps free from a random twig, gently swaying back and forth like a descending feather. The blond reaches for it out of impulse, scrunches his nose as it swishes just from his grasp and lands on the ground. He hears the tiny giggles from Tadashi beside him, and can't help but shoot a perturbed glare over at the brunet.

 

Seemingly unaffected by Kei's look, the brunet rubs a gloved hand on the tree trunk, tiny bits breaking off under his palm. Tadashi whips his head around and nails Kei with a smile of absolute splendor – the excitement billowing around him rivaling the energy of a sugar high.

 

“This is it, Shuuki! This is my most favor-est tree ever!” the little freckled child chirps, patting the tree with heightened emphasis, as if the gesture backed his claim.

 

Kei raises a brow at his friend's obvious mispronunciation, hand scratching at his arm absently – the sweater his mother made him wear beneath the already sweltering coat itchy and uncomfortable on his skin – and scrutinizes the tall plant.

 

“What, exactly, is good about this tree?” he asks with a little more bite than intended, but again the brunet pays no mind to his snippy attitude.

 

“The stars, Shuuki! If we climb this tree before it gets too dark, we can see the stars!”  
“We can see them from our houses too.”

 

Tadashi wiggles an index finger, scolds playfully, “Nuh-uh, this is differ'nt, Shuuki.”

 

The small brunet shoots a toothy – minus one – grin at the Kei, then pirouettes on one foot towards the tree, scooting down to a low branch. Throwing a purple clothed leg over, Tadashi hoists himself up with a tiny gurgle, wobbling the slightest bit. Once settled, he stands up and works his way up the next branch, his maneuvers reminding Kei of a toddler trying to get on a chair – not the least bit smart or safe.

 

“Yamaguchi...”  
“Jus' come on!”

 

Kei watches the brunet slowly wriggle his way higher and higher up the tree, frowning at how much farther apart the footholds become as Tadashi gets towards the top – reducing him to slow crawls and awkward climbing.

 

Grumbling, the blond throws down his backpack, and approaches the tree. Scans each branch, and calculates the best way to get up where his troublesome companion was shouting at him with windswept glee.

 

Tadashi might hurt himself if Kei doesn't personally watch out for him, after all.

 

Eventually, Kei reaches the brunet's level, winded and a lot more grumpy than when he started. His friend watches him jubilantly, bouncing side to side on the highest branch they could reach. The blond sits as close to the trunk, arms wrapping as far around as possible and tossing a displeased glare over his shoulder.

 

He's about to open his mouth to voice his thoughts on climbing up this high, or climbing this tree at all, but his words fall flat as he looks out in the darkening distance.

 

Through the bunches of leaves, a littering of dim city lights start to glimmer at the foot of the hill leading into town. Just past, the sky fans out in a brilliant array of navy, violets, and hints of pink as the sun flickers beneath the tallest buildings in the distance. The remnants of sunlight reflect in the leaves in front of his face, colors much warmer than simply looking at them in the daytime – almost like licks of fire dancing in the chilly breeze that passes.

 

Breathtaking would be the first thing to come to mind, followed by a feeling of being big among the little shapes that make up houses and smaller sakura trees in town.

 

On top of the world.

 

“See, Shuuki! It's like you can almost reach them!” the brunet interrupts Kei's mental trance, a hand rising up towards the moderate patch of sky they can see through the top of the tree – finger pointing at the spots of white glittering in the open dark space. He wobbles the slightest bit as he stretches, and in a mild panic, Kei reaches a hand away from the tree trunk to clasp onto Tadashi's coat.

 

“Stop doing that! You're gonna fall, idiot!” the blond hisses, flabbergasted at how carefree his friend is when one wrong move could end their risky adventure.

 

Laughing weakly, Tadashi looks over his shoulder, “Sorry, Shuuki.”

 

Apprehensive, Kei slowly gazes up where his friend previously pointed, fist tightening on the jacket.

 

Moments later, the blond tilts his head and whispers under his breath, “It does though...”

 

He hears the happy giggle from in front of him, and huffs to himself, eyes not leaving the dark blue sky as it slowly sparkles to life.

 

“Do you think dinosaurs could reach the stars?”  
“What?”  
“Oh, um, I saw some toys in your room when I came over last time, and I just thought you might know...”

 

Kei almost admires the brunet's attentiveness to detail, and leans his head down to rub his shoulder on a chilled ear.

 

“Stars are way too far away for that, it's pretty obvious,” Kei replies shortly, frowns as Tadashi slouches in disappointment. It's not like he's lying – nothing can simply reach the stars with an outstretched hand – but for some reason, he feels a _little_ bad. Obviously Tadashi had been excited all day, wanting to show him this view – almost like doing so would be the official testament to their oddly formed friendship.

 

_Ahh._

 

“But,” the blond starts up again, releasing Tadashi's back and patting the branch lightly – thoughtfully. “There were dinosaurs that were as tall, taller even, than this tree...so I guess you could imagine they could at least see them like we can now...”

 

“Really?!” the small brunet blurts out, eye shining as he awkwardly looks over his shoulder. Kei nods once, slowly. “That's so cool...”

 

Tadashi breathes quietly, swinging a leg back and forth as he stares up at the sky.

 

Carefully adjusting his glasses, Kei joins his friend in the star-gazing, silently agreeing with the gesture and sentiment.

 

He'll worry about how they're getting down later.

 


	11. Lazy Mornings - Asanoya - Rated: G

_Asanoya snuggles in the morning._

 

* * *

 

 

Nishinoya peels an eye open, slowly and regretfully, as the sun glares through the not-so-lightproof blinds in his bedroom. A string of displeased groans – sounding much like a growling bear cub – on his lips, the small brunet flips over to escape the wretched, eye-attacking aura of light. Buries his face into the pillow with the determination to sleep another hundred years or so – maybe even move to a cave and simply hibernate – until a warm hand rests on his nape, nimble fingers playing softly with the messy stray hairs at the base.

 

Twisting awkwardly, very much in the wrong direction like a rung out towel, Nishinoya squints at the occupant hovering over him and manages a sleepy grin while tossing a foot off the bed.

 

“Yer' supposed to be in here with me, ya know...” the libero mumbles, rolling around until he's on his back, arm flopping lazily on the pillow with a cushioned puff. The fingers caressing him curl around a pink cheek, the pad of his thumb rubbing at the corner of Nishinoya's eye and over his temple.

 

“Needed some water,” the tall brunet replies with hints of hoarseness in his vocals, and leans down to place a small peck on the libero's lips – smiles against his mouth.

 

“Mhmm,” Nishinoya hums, leaning up for another kiss before looping an arm around his boyfriend's neck and tugging at him playfully. “Come 'ere, Asahi.”

 

With an amused grunt, the plaid pajama clad – aka sexy because _wow_ – spiker crawls carefully over his small boyfriend, stopping only for a moment before collapsing on top of him with an exaggerated huff. Nishinoya jolts from the bed, giggles gushing out from the sudden pressure on his gut, and clocks Asahi on the shoulder as he squirms under the ace's weight.

 

Okay, he did tell Asahi to come, but really now. Troublesome, dorky boyfriend.

 

“You're warm,” the tall brunet mutters happily, burying his prickly face into Nishinoya's collar.

 

“And you're heavy, you lug. Did ya hafta clobber me like that?”

 

“Entirely necessary.”

 

Nishinoya blinks slowly, not disagreeing at all, and coils his arms around his boyfriend's large back. He peppers a series of pucker-lipped kisses on the corner of Asahi's jaw as his eyes drift shut, basking in the hands crawling up his bare waist and thumbs rubbing at his ribs. Falling back asleep would be such an easy task right now, Nishinoya notes as Asahi nuzzles into him.

 

Yeah, that sounds pretty good.

 

The libero wiggles a leg free from the sheets, looping it around and pressing the sole of his foot on Asahi's butt, rubbing insistently with the heel.

 

“Get under here already, 'm _sleepy_ ~” he coos quietly, voice barely willing itself to speak coherently under the warmth surrounding him. Asahi nods into his shoulder and drags himself up with an equal level of lethargy. The battle to get Asahi neatly under the covers takes a good couple minutes, caught limbs and clunking foreheads rousing giggles from the both of them.

 

Finally, though, they end up under the covers, Asahi still laying halfway on top of the small brunet like a lazy puppy. Nishinoya really could care less though. He scratches his boyfriend's chin absently, eyes drooping heavily – so much that Asahi's face becomes blurry as it comes into view. The libero can still spot that love-stricken gaze as clear as day though, and spares the tall brunet a dopey grin as he's greeted with another plush kiss, one much longer than the previous. Leans up into the languid affection with the tilt of his neck, leg bending at the spikers side to soothe with a pale thigh.

 

Many seconds – and _many_ kisses – later, Nishinoya plops back into his sea of pillows. Beside him, Asahi shifts onto his side, and the libero takes the chance to flip over into his open chest – snuggling contently between the pillows and Asahi's firm body. He presses his ear against a pectoral and listens to the pattering under the surface, smiling blithely as it starts to lull him to sleep.

 

“What time do you wanna get up?” the quiet question murmurs in Nishinoya's ear, the velvet tone of his boyfriend's voice leaving subtle tingles in his ears.

 

He nuzzles deeper into the warmth around him, grasping at his Asahi's shirt with pale fingers, “ _Mm_ , next year or somethin'.”

 

“'Kay...”

 

An arm gently curls around his head, fingers carding into his messy locks of black and blond hair – nails massaging his scalp softly.

 

Letting out a satisfied purr, Nishinoya drifts off to sleep minutes later. 


	12. Hair Pulling - Asanoya - Rated: Explicit

 

_Asahi blinks once, tilting his head just so that the matted locks on his temples unhinge and flutter against his cheek, and smiles._

 

* * *

 

 

 

It's a fascinating visual, damning him and sending him flying all at once. Seeing his own body disappear under a curvature body – strikingly sharp hips rolling, a perfect _lush_ ass jolting and burying his cock to the hilt with each delicious grind, muscles flexing for fleeting seconds with each excursion. It's incredibly beautiful, as wet and messy and erotic as Asahi nestling on his lap and riding him is – beautiful because he's the only one who will ever see such a view, peeking so far below yet being so unbelievably high.

 

Nishinoya lets the guttural moans blow from his system without a lick of restraint. The sight before his eyes is simply too glorious to be bogged down by ridiculous masculine liturgy. He'll scream at the top of his lungs if it'll allow his lover to sustain the courage of this absolutely racy display. He'll scream and wail and beg Asahi to nail him to the bed because _fuck he feels so good_ on his cock and he wants his lover to know it.

 

“ _Asahi_ –“

 

The small brunet bucks his hips once, well-timed and clipped at an angle to please his lover, all while biting his lip as he struggles for a decent breath under all this pleasure wracking his body and destroying his lungs from the inside – threatening to burst from his chest with the spontaneity of a bottle rocket. And when he sees that full body seize, and messy russet waves spill in semi-damp locks down Asahi's back as he cranes his head, whimpers wetly – Nishinoya almost loses his mind.

 

The weighted roll of Asahi's hips, that splendid cascade dipping between jutting shoulder blades and a spine dewy with sweat, those throaty mewls – Nishinoya's hand reaches out to grasp at the swirling devastation crashing down on him in waves.

 

He finds a fistful of hair under his palm and a body that shivers uncontrollably on his lap when he clamps the earthy tresses in a forceful grip. Asahi pitches a hand back, sprawling haphazardly on Nishinoya's hip to brace himself from the pull – the touch burns, and the libero tugs harder.

 

“Nishi... _noya...uhh!”_ the molten vice around his cock punches the air from the fiery brunet's lungs, the bounce against his pelvis snapping sparks through his body, a lightning sharp fractal ready to ignite. Out of half morbid curiosity and half simply wanting to see Asahi crest as he works himself into a tizzy, Nishinoya tests another quick straining jerk of the hair in his hold, the whining brunet bending back without so much as a strangled mewl before he grinds harder.

 

“Oh fuck,” Nishinoya gasps, air becoming harder and harder to suck in between his own heavy panting – he feels that oh so familiar sanity slippage lingering around like a phantom on his skin. “Fuck, Asahi, you really like this, don't you?”

 

He cards through the locks of hair, only giving his husky lover brief tugs at the ends before raking back from the top. The way Asahi curls back, a full arch that looks nearly impossible for a man his size, sends flashes of memory coursing through Nishinoya's mind of his lover unraveling within the sheets, ribs rippling and stomach tensing as his mouth drops open in a low drawling groan.

 

Nishinoya can't quite decide which view he loves more.

 

The rocking brunet half nuzzles back into his palm, moving at such a messed up cadence yet hits every perfect spot in some mind-blowing coincidence – Nishinoya has to drop his hand in favor of grabbing at Asahi's hips and pitching up into him with a full throttle piston.

 

Asahi's second hand finds home on the small brunet's other hip, fully rises from his perch only to slam down with drive enough to shock Nishinoya's toes numb. The libero growls, digging his heels into the bed as he meets those challenging thrusts, curling forward in some feverish attempt to get even closer to the lover impaling himself with the sexiest reckless abandon he's ever witnessed.

 

“Nishinoya, please...” the spiker mumbles within his constant trills, head dropping back completely to look aimlessly at the ceiling. Nishinoya understands instantly, takes a hand away to reclaim a set of wavy earth within his shaking pale fingers. He pulls _hard_ , and Asahi clamps onto his sides with a grip so tight his knuckles shake – his ass squeezes unbearably. Nishinoya nearly chokes.

 

He yanks again, his lover's head snapping back with a loud moan as the libero bucks up in tandem. Asahi rises somehow within the wanton roughness, rolls and sinks onto Nishinoya's cock, fills himself to the brink as if possessed by gluttony itself. A loose, incoherent melody of the libero's name sings from his lips, rumbles in his throat as he moves and jerks with the hand that commands his movements.

 

Nishinoya feels his limit racing in on him, eyes fluttering like the rapid shutter of an old-fashioned camera, but he refuses to close off his senses. Refuses to miss one second of Asahi tripping over the edge, bent back and sobbing and holding onto him for dear life as he comes. It's exactly what he wants, exactly what Nishinoya craves to see each time they tumble into the bedroom – pleasuring Asahi any which way until he messily unravels, crashes openly for him.

 

“– _Noya._ ”

 

The verbal cue taunts him to life, Nishinoya tugs automatically, Asahi's pleas hitting all the right buttons to drive the libero into answering his every beckon call. Within moments, the wailing brunet tenses above him, ass pitching down and arms flexing – the hold on Nishinoya's hips almost painful as Asahi freezes. The pressure twisting in his own gut wrenches free when the wet heat swallowing his cock locks him down, nearly peeling the orgasm from his very pores as he physically rises from the bed with a sharp gasp.

 

Nishinoya collapses moments later, releasing the handful of his lover's hair gently before Asahi sags on his lap, shoulders rising with each hoarse breath. With a twist, the tall brunet casts a look over his shoulder, eyes an alluring, murky brown as they watch Nishinoya and cheeks flushed with a soft carmine. His lips pucker the slightest bit as he sighs lightly, wiggles on his perch.

 

“You liked that, didn't you Asahi?” Nishinoya coos, swiping clammy fingers along the slopes of his boyfriend's shaky hips. “Me pullin' your hair.”

 

Asahi blinks once, tilting his head just so that the matted locks on his temples unhinge and flutter against his cheek, and smiles. 


	13. Confection Affection - KuroDai - Rated: T

 

_Kuroo's weakness for sweets strikes again. Daichi has the perfect counter._

* * *

 

Lightly yawning, Kuroo zigzags through the hustle of people littering the Tokyo streets, arm latched and locked under invisible key to his silent boyfriend as he steps over a stray patch of snow yet to be melted with the new early spring weather.

 

It's late in the evening, the pale glow of street lamps creating brief dances of shadows as people pass beneath the lights, but it only serves to give Kuroo a vaguely pleasant distraction – the looming aura of upcoming exams and less Daichi time scratching at his ankles. He squeezes the shorter brunet's bicep just a little tighter, as if trying to absorb as much of the man as he can even through their layers of clothing.

 

Letting out a short breath, the bedhead brunet tosses a look sideways to the various shops and cafes along the boardwalk. Nothing of interest catches his eye, just the typical knick-knack shop, three too many coffee shops – they're literally everywhere – and mini marts of which people clatter to and fro in their own end of the day routines.

 

The pair round a corner, and a large window display with bright pink lettering neatly painted across Kuroo's eye view stops him dead in his tracks – he yanks Daichi to a halt seconds later. He leans back, lazy eyes widening the slightest bit as he looks past the large – **Spring Special –** words and nearly lets his jaw drop from the colorful and savory sight that greets his senses.

 

For the smallest moment, Kuroo feels like he's floating in a cloud – second arm hovering awkwardly until it finds Daichi's, hits it repeatedly as he tries to sniff the sweet aroma through the very glass. His mouth waters as he darts his suddenly ravenous vision back and forth at the generous display of delicious treats. Way past the tables with neatly stacked boxes filled with luscious chocolates – tied cutely with ribbons of red and pink and mint green – and beyond the greeter holding a try of what looks like caramel squares with vibrant picks for sampling, lies the front counter display. And the pastries.

 

_Oh the pastries._

 

Kuroo immediately recognizes the rows of desserts, the mini pies and cakes, the clusters of brittle and toffees, candied fruits in an endless array of colors rivaling a rainbow wrapped in crinkly cellophane bags. He's been here plenty of times, probably knows the store inch by inch and could blueprint that sugar infested space from memory alone. His body instantly tickles as he spots a particular corner of the main display, one entire shelf sporting large, flaky pastries with copious mounds of rose colored filling – stuffing the pastry beyond its capacity, but elegant in its arrangement to look like perfection itself, dusted lightly with confectioner sugar.

 

Bavarian cream puffs.

 

The raven brunet tugs at the arm in his embrace, inches towards the door before meeting resistance in the form of an immovable boyfriend.

 

Kuroo glances over his shoulder, a shameless grin adorning his chilly lips, “Hey, Daichi...can we –“

 

“No.”

 

“But there's –“

 

“ _No~_ ” Daichi's voice takes that deep, sing song voice that Kuroo knows is the start of an uphill battle. The voice that says that he'll humor Kuroo for approximately two minutes flat before sending all his dreams and delusions into the pavement – a tone that the sweet-toothed captain both loves and loathes in how stupidly effective it is.

 

Still, Kuroo kicks up a fuss, stubbornness and absolute _need_ for those sumptuous pastries overriding his thoughts, “But dessert, Daichi.”

 

“But dinner, here, in my hands? It's already getting cold,” the disgruntled brunet shuffles his free arm, a plastic bag rustling quietly. Kuroo promptly dons the biggest pout he can manage, tugging at his boyfriend and curling into him like a cat vying for attention.

 

“Five minutes?” he asks, tone dripping with sweetness.

 

This time, Daichi fully turns to him, looking up with a look of skepticism, “Remember last time we had his conversation? At this very store? Five minutes turned into twenty and I was almost late for class. I let you loose in there, I might as well put out a search warrant because I won't be finding you within any sort of five minute time frame. Or at all.”

 

“Oh come on!”

 

“Of course, of course. If we're talking increments of five minutes, then I suppose I can give you that benefit,” the stocky brunet raises a brow, toothy grin teasing.

 

“Time me, then. Come on, I need to be in there...” Kuroo bounces on the balls of his feet, feeling like he's descending in age by the second. But honestly, it's not like they couldn't reheat dinner. It's chicken, you pop that stuff in the oven anyway. They bought it from a mini oven for crying out loud. Dinner can wait, there are desserts to roam! And he knows there is zero risk for late classes or homework, Kuroo checked when making these plans in the first place – dates being impossibly hard to make time for with conflicting schedules and the busyness of two full time students at Tokyo University.

 

“You take one step in there, I'm taking this chicken home and eating it myself then going to bed. You and I both know that you have a sweet tooth the size of Japan – as I've learned the _hard_ way, might I add – and once you go in, you won't be coming out.”

 

“Baravarian cream puffs, Daichi!!” Kuroo whines, fingers scratching at Daichi's sleeve in a desperate plea. “The very first batch they make in spring, you know? They do this thing – sakura cream and pink sugars and they _always_ stuff them extra full without extra charge! It's like paradise in pastry form. Heaven. Better than sex...”

 

Daichi raises an eyebrow.

 

“ – sometimes. _Daichiiii_.”

 

Kuroo turns to the shop, pawing towards the glass, eyes brim with longing as he leans dangerously close – puffs of exhalation fogging up the window. Groaning like a dying soul, the bedhead brunet eyes the front counter, the neatly arranged confections he wants to ravage so badly. It'd be quick, he could easily buy the whole batch, whatever works. So what if there are at least thirty, he'll eat them all, living off ramen for two weeks be damned. He just wants those mini mountains of flaky goodness and rich, homemade filling.

 

_Aghhh._

 

“Daichi –“

 

“ _Tetsurou_.”

 

Kuroo stops dead, jumping on the spot at the deeper than usual baritone prickling at his ears – the even rarer use of his first name making his cheeks hot. He shivers as Daichi draws closer, body pressing tight against his side, a rush much more pleasant than one caused by a cold breeze settles in his bones as his shorter boyfriend slides a bare hand under the hem of his coat – nails grazing with seemingly mastered precision.

 

Kuroo coughs, sucking in too much of the stiff, early spring air and bends unconsciously towards the touch on his back. Before even uttering a word edgewise, the stupefied brunet feels a ghosting of warmth on the shell of his ear, his hand officially dropping limp from Daichi's arm.

 

“You know,” comes a velvety murmur, the brazen hand still trailing up the bumps of Kuroo's spine. “What if I told you...that I _have_ those very pastries at home. Not one, or two, but half a dozen.”

 

Kuroo's eyes pop open.

 

“ _And._ What if I told you that of those, two of them are for tonight and they'll be coming with us into the bedroom –“ Daichi's voice drops even lower, almost inaudible as he continues to whisper quiet profanities and filthy promises, a mouth so foul that it leaves Kuroo tingling all over. By the time Daichi finishes speaking, he's whipping his head sideways just in time for the dirty-mouthed brunet to crush their lips together in a firm kiss – short circuiting Kuroo's system.

 

He sighs, eyes rolling back as the hand dancing on his burning skin traces a single line down until it falls just below Kuroo's pant seam, snagging on the belt loop before retreating completely. Gasping for air, he can't even catch a lick of his bearings as Daichi pulls away, taking a kiss-plush bottom lip between teeth for a fleeting moment – along with a soft flicker of wetness – before giving the the ramrod straight brunet a wily grin.

 

“So...?” Daichi murmurs playfully, jutting out his elbow towards the gaping mess in front of him.

 

Kuroo lurches forward, head bowing towards the ground, “So? There are a lot of 'so's right going on right now. So, I really want to kiss you stupid right now. So I really want to drag your ass home right now. So I'm pretty sure that either way we spin it, our chicken is going be cold when we eat it. So can we go home now before my legs officially melt into jelly?”

 

When he looks up again, Daichi's smile is gentler, but the look in his eyes definitely doesn't betray the promise he uttered earlier – a spiciness much like cinnamon. Kuroo loves it, is absolutely slain by it.

 

“Well, I guess we best get you home before that happens, huh? Besides,” Daichi reaches his hand out – of which Kuroo takes without hesitation – and jerks his head idly towards the shop. “I don't think you'll want to go in there now anyway.”

 

“W-why?” Kuroo dares to ask, allowing his boyfriend to slowly urge him along. Morbidly curious, the bedhead brunet turns to look in the direction Daichi gestured to, leading right inside to the front counter where the female greeter and cashier both meet his gaze – both pairs of eyes wide, mouths gaping and faces red as cherries.

 

In tow of a chuckling Daichi, Kuroo slaps a hand over his face as they round the corner and walk out of sight, cheeks burning from the heaps of fire that take home there.

 

 


	14. Kissing in the Rain - Daisuga - Rated: G

_When Daichi learns that Suga is a hopeless romantic one hot, summer day..._

* * *

 

 

Suga's hum comes from nowhere, floating into existence with the subtlety of bubbles blown from a wand. Daichi hears the soft, sugary tune linger in his ears as the two of them walk down the sidewalk towards their apartment. The pavement seems to stretch on forever – plastic bags with various groceries sticking to his sweltering skin and sweat beading at his brow under the relentless summer heat.

 

Daichi imagines a comforting breeze flirting over him as his blond companion's voice fills the humid air with a smooth rhythm. Imagines bowls of ice cream and cuddly boyfriends and fights over the chocolate sauce, getting comfortable on the carpet, snuggling close after their snack and enjoying the wind of their tiny desk fan. Suga's melody simply makes the bog of heat much more tolerable, and his tired muscles relaxed – velvet working miracles as it filters into his mind.

 

“What's that now?” he questions idly, tipping his head sideways to the longer trills before bobbing his head slowly side to side, a smile spreading effortlessly on his lips as he thoroughly enjoys the audio tune.

 

“Singin' in the rain~” Suga chirps happily, voice still charmingly sing song in its manner, as he fans his face with a hand. “Somehow singing tunes about rain makes the heat a little less insufferable. Maybe, heh.”

 

Daichi shakes his head, a humored chuckle bubbling in his gut, “You and your movie classics. Incredible.”

 

“Hey, hey. That movie is iconic, and I love old movies.”

 

“Forgive my crass poke at your movie interests, rain master. Please, continue,” the brunet smiles at his boyfriend, threading his free hand though Suga's. “Let me admit that I almost feel a breeze listening to you.”

 

Their hands are clammy and hot, but Daichi can't bring himself to find it bothersome in the slightest when the soft tune returns to his senses and the sight of their apartment complex comes into view. He clutches onto Suga even tighter, quickening his pace to their distant refuge.

 

Suga's song changes quickly to giggles though as they clobber together up the steps to the second level, the blond's hips bumping into Daichi's playfully as they race to the cool sanctuary waiting for them. Daichi snorts in response, tugging the setter to him and nuzzling his moist forehead to Suga's neck – making the blond snicker and shove the flirty brunet away.

 

“Come on, why did you stop singing Suga?” Daichi teases, groping at his boyfriend's thinly veiled waist, watching Suga attempt to slide the key into the slot, silver clunking noisily from his laughter shaking him and flubbing his aim.

 

“S-stop that – ahaha – Daichi, the door,” Suga sputters back, kicking a leg out to grind his foot into Daichi's shin. He tuts, refusing to relent. Maybe the heat is getting to him a little, but Suga's little habits are simply too adorable to ignore – he can't help but tease him. That, or he's just a little heat-crazy, and a whole lot of handsy. With the way the blond squirms in his hold, even as they stumble into the apartment – and a blast of deliciously cool air coaxes breathless sighs from the both of them – Daichi can't find it in him to care about his own touchy antics. He likes acting spoiled when they're alone, likes spoiling Suga as well.

 

“You are so ridiculous sometimes,” the blond playfully scolds, grabbing the bags from Daichi's hand and bouncing back gracefully before being caught in tan arms again. “Spoiled brat, help me put this stuff away.”

 

Suga knows all too well.

 

Kicking off his sandals and eyeing his retreating companion, Daichi huffs, “I dunno, I thought I'd just keep teasing you instead.” The flat stare he receives in return, thin brow raised and lips puckered, only solidifies the urge to walk over and squeeze the life from his boyfriend with a hefty embrace.

 

It's the heat. Definitely the heat.

 

“Alright, alright,” Daichi moseys over, grabbing the offered stalk of green onions and carrots and proceeds to the fridge. Not before stealing a quick assault on Suga's lips though, mouth pecking in a perfect trio. He retreats to the fridge, quickly depositing the vegetables into a crisper, pausing to bask in the chill on his still sweaty skin – pulling the collar of his shirt in rapidly to fan the heat from his body. It really is a hot day, one of the warmest of the summer.

 

Blinking, Daichi regretfully shuts the door, “Hey, Suga?”

 

“Hmm?” the brunet hears the muffled hum – Suga digging around in a cabinet.

 

“How exactly did 'Singin' in the Rain' get into your head today?”

 

“Ah, some girls at work were talking about iconic romantic movies I guess? None of them have seen the actual classics though, only stuff like The Notebook and such. A shame, really –”

 

Suga's love for classic movies – definitely proven and reiterated more than once with the passionate way he rambles about the actors and mono-color picture and catchy musical numbers – is something Daichi finds absolutely charming. Especially with the particular way his cheeks take on a rosy hue, and the fidgety demeanor of excited fingers as he counts his favorite moments from digit to digit.

 

Taking advantage of the blond's verbal deluge, Daichi simpers over to his lover, cupping his hips and pulling him close. Suga only blinks in confusion, but easily sways into the embrace and accepts the silencing caress of Daichi's lips.

 

“So...what you're saying, is that you're a hopeless romantic?” he grins, amused as Suga stares down at the hands rubbing his waist, a childish pout adorning his face. Daichi yelps, a startled laugh rupturing his gut as Suga pinches his belly in retaliation. Squirming out of the blond's assault – he's definitely more humored than pained over this silly revenge – Daichi mutters an equal amount of hushed apologies and feathery kisses, but he knows Suga isn't upset in the first place. Playing around, teasing and passing little pinches and squeezes between them is a daily occurrence.

 

“It's hard not to be, you know,” the blond pipes up, finally relenting after the seventh apology smooch. “Being swept off my feet, someone singing their love for me, being kissed in the rain – it's sounds so... _amazing_ ,” Suga breathes the last word as he flushes, hands smoothing over Daichi's collar and around the strong curves of taut shoulders as if to distract himself – or Daichi, he's not entirely sure.

 

The brunet remains quiet, brows quirking just a bit as he processes his boyfriend's wistful words. It's almost like showtime curtains parting all the way, velvet curtains revealing a bedazzled Suga – allure and radiance billowing from him like gold dust. Seeing his lover express such innocent, yet blatantly romantic wishes squeezes Daichi's chest tight like a rubber band trapping his lightly pounding heart. He honestly thought he knew all there was to know about Suga – he knows his love for classic movies, knows that the rainy season was one that the blond truly enjoyed, and he definitely never misses the jovial smile when they sat oh-so-close together when watching television or reading a thick, hardcover novel.

 

Daichi thinks that Suga couldn't possibly be more interesting, more amazing and captivating. For years, he saw the pinnacle, yet it's all blown away within seconds.

 

Daichi briefly wonders if it's really the heat making him so starstruck. He quickly dismisses the excuse for a more accurate conclusion.

 

It's simply Suga.

 

The captain doesn't quite understand why, but he finds himself even more enamored with the person in front of him. He doesn't need a reason though – the only thing crossing Daichi's mind is a dangerously silly idea. Crazy is what it is, but turning his gaze to the sliding glass door – the heatwaves bending the outside air – he suddenly wishes he could fulfill that romantic dream. Right here, right now, defying nature and beckoning storms so he can lead his boyfriend out and give him the whole nine yards.

 

Daichi reckons he's so, so in love.

 

Then, Daichi gets an even crazier idea.

 

“Hey, Suga,” the brunet clips suddenly, trailing his hands up to cup Suga's neck and swoop in for a kiss. “I gotta do something real quick, wait here for a bit, okay?”

 

“Um...?”

 

He parts from his boyfriend, ignoring the confused look on Suga's face before twisting and making a beeline for their bedroom. Shuffling around in drawers, Daichi finds a pack of tea candles, snatches one along with its marble patterned saucer. Digs in their long untouched clean clothes hamper, pulls out some obviously mismatches articles before thundering towards his grand scheme.

 

It's several minutes later that he hears Suga calling his name, feet padding lightly down the hall before stopping just outside the bathroom – where Daichi himself stands with his back facing the door. Slowly, the brunet turns around just in time for Suga to step inside.

 

“Daichi...I heard you turn on the... _shower_ –“

 

Daichi watches him freeze in the doorway, caramel eyes widening immensely as he both adjusts to the dimmer lighting and the very scene in front of him. The captain doesn't even try to hide the smile on his face, he reaches out a hand to his lover.

 

Suga stands there looking absolutely dumbfounded as he aimlessly traces a finger over the sink surface, sucking in a sharp breath as he skirts around the small plate, a tea candle leaving flickers of orange light on his pale skin. The blond's eyes roam over to Daichi, mouth hovering open as if he's struggled to speak or even comprehend the situation – it's so out of left field. The brunet watches the glossy browns flutter down to the towel laying at their feet and up to the running shower behind the brunet, and lets out that gust of air that says it's finally clicking together.

 

“ _Daichi..._ ”

 

At the soft spoken murmur of his name, Daichi's smile widens, and he wiggles his index finger to summon his shell-shocked boyfriend forward.

 

“Come here, _Suga_ ,” he mirrors the tone that passes between them, pulls the blond past the threshold and towards the open, running shower as soon as their fingers intertwine. He admires the shadows dancing across skin and the hints of pink he finds on Suga's cheeks even in the dim glow. Suppressing a chuckle when Suga wordlessly rounds the door closed with a foot, Daichi tugs at his lover, takes a step back onto the tiled flooring of the shower. The feeling of water rushing to absorb into his socked foot is oddly thrilling, and doesn't stop stepping back until they're both under the current – water raining down on them and making their clothing stick to them like plaster.

 

Silent during their entire single-line dance, Suga briefly shivers from the cooler temperature clinging to his body, “Daichi, this is...”

 

Burying his warm hands under the water-heavy shirt, Daichi moves in, “Under such blistering weather, I have to get a little creative to indulge my hopeless romantic, now don't I?”

 

Within seconds, the brunet finds himself glued to his boyfriend, bodies molding as thin arms coil around his neck and amazingly warm lips find his own – a plush smile and gentle nips greeting him with not so delicate force. Little droplets of water trickle down his face as they dip under the full spray, trailing into his mouth between kisses, but there isn't an ounce of care in Daichi's body. Warmth seeps down his spine as Suga sighs lowly against his mouth, arms pulling even harder and trapping the brunet to his soaked form with every touch of strength in him.

 

When Daichi finally closes his eyes, his mind briefly wanders – imagines the grainy black and white and the light patter of rain on rooftops and licks of rumbling in the distance. It's much more vivid now as he desperately presses his lips to Suga's under his make-shift downpour, vivid and exhilarating as he cards his fingers through dripping strands of blond.

 

Moments later, as he hears a light, hushed hum come from his lover – their wet foreheads touching intimately – Daichi thinks he can easily relate to the alluring aspect of kissing in the rain, and squeezes Suga just a little tighter. 


End file.
